


So I'm Being Honest

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Get together fic, M/M, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: After the lie detector video, Colin has a lot on his mind.





	So I'm Being Honest

**Author's Note:**

> listen, between the lie detector video and then these two dorks hanging out under the ring at wrestlemania, how could I not finally write something for them??
> 
> big thanks to hannah for beta'ing!! 
> 
> enjoy!

Colin’s whole body flushes at the question.

Of _course_ he’s dreamt of Che. He’s dreamt of practically all his friends (and coworkers, for that matter). That’s just a natural, normal thing that happens. To everyone. He’s even had wet dreams about friends who _aren’t_ Che, too!

So what if his wet dreams just _usually_ feature Che? It doesn’t mean anything.

Colin fumbles his way through the remainder of the questioning—and _god_ , the question about lying nearly does him in, what the _fuck_ , man? Then he wades his way through interrogating Che right back. His questions aren’t nearly as personal, though

He’s disappointed in himself for his lack of gumption. He can’t help but wonder if Che is disappointed too.

 

 

“You look like someone killed your dog, man.” Che elbows him hard enough to send a splash of his drink sloshing over the edge.

“I don’t have a dog,” Colin retorts. He brings his hand to his mouth to suck at the bittersweet taste of his whiskey sour off his skin. “What’re you talking about?”

“You look fucking _bummed_.” Che sips at his own beer, staring intensely at Colin for a moment before his gaze slides away. Under the dim lights of the bar, as close together as they are, Colin can see a faint blush staining the apples of Che’s cheeks.

“I’m fine,” Colin says in a strangled tone. “The lie detector was fun.”

Che snorts. “Yeah? Couldn’t tell from you laughing the whole damn time. Fun? That’s it?” Che elbows him again, gentler.

Colin sways playfully on his barstool and crashes against Che’s side carefully. It’s enough to earn him a fond eyeroll, and Che shoving at him once more just to right him on his chair. Colin smiles as he takes a hefty swig of his whiskey sour, already feeling lighter.

Che’s not done, though. “I’m serious, man. If something is buggin’ you… We can talk about it.”

Colin drains his drink until nothing but ice and an orange twist rattle around in the glass. “It’s nothing,” he says, reaching out to flag the bartender down. It’s not a busy night, so he gets his third drink quick enough. “It’s just…” He shakes his head and plays with the little straw stuck in his drink this time.

“Swear to god, man. I’m not dealing with your mopey ass tonight.” Che’s words are biting and quick, but there’s an edge of familiar fondness there. And something about that—coupled with the booze burning in Colin’s blood and the lights flashing across Che’s face—undoes Colin entirely.

“It’s the video,” he says, deflating.

Che raises an unimpressed eyebrow; he gives away nothing in his expression.

“Of _course_ I’ve dreamt about you,” Colin says miserably.

“Oh, you have?” Che says with a broad smirk.

“Shut up.” Colin runs a hand over his face, and can’t help but note he can’t feel the tips of his fingers. How strong are these fucking whiskey sours? “It’s normal.”

“It’s normal, huh?” Che teases. “Why you so flustered about it, then?”

“I’m _not_. I’m just—I didn’t ask you any good questions.”

Che rolls his eyes again. “Your questions were fine, Colin. Fans will eat it up.”

Colin lets out a dejected sigh.

“Nuh uh,” Che says as he reaches out to flick at Colin’s ear. “None of that. Tell me ‘bout some of your dreams.”

“Oh fuck no,” Colin says immediately.

“Oh fuck _yeah_ ,” Che retorts. He twists on his barstool and knocks his knees against Colin’s. “Spill.”

“No!”

Suddenly, Che is close, in his face. His breath smells like beer and the air smells faintly like whatever spicy, woodsy cologne Che wears. All of it floods Colin’s already overwhelmed senses and he leans back. Except there’s nowhere to go, unless he wants to topple to the floor.

Che’s gaze darkens, and the idea of falling off his stool seems more and more appealing.

“C’mon, you’re my _friend_.” Che smirks again. “Friends tell each other about their dreams.”

“Even when dicks are involved?” Colin blurts.

Che barks out a laugh. There’s an unfamiliar glint in his eyes that has Colin’s breathing catching in his chest. Che’s grin is all teeth, like a shark, as he says, “ _Especially_ when dicks are involved.”

 

Somehow, Colin ends up pressed up against the rickety wall in a back hallway of the bar. There are various other couples scattered around so he and Che hardly stand out; Colin’s too drunk—on whiskey, on Che—to care, anyway. He winds his arms around Che’s waist and lets the other man press him against the wall as he kisses him like they’ll both die without it. It’s all messy and sloppy, groans traded between the wet smack of lips coming together and apart.

“Che,” Colin gasps as the kiss breaks and Che bends to suck at Colin’s neck. “Che, Che, oh fuck, _Michael_.”

“Mhmm,” Che says, distracted. He bites down again and Colin doesn’t need a mirror to know his neck is going to be covered in red bite marks. Leslie and Kate are going to give him shit for _weeks_. “Stop thinkin’ so hard, Colin.”

“Okay,” Colin breathes. “Yeah, alright.”

Che smiles against his neck and kisses the skin, surprisingly gentle. “Is this what your dreams are like?” He stands up straight to meet Colin’s fluttering gaze. Che presses in a little closer and slots his leg between Colin’s thighs. He doesn’t press too close but it’s still hot and firm against Colin’s cock.

“There’s usually a bed,” Colin admits.

Che laughs. It’s a full, throaty sound. Some people turn and look at them but quickly get distracted again. “Sure,” Che agrees. “I can get behind that. C’mon.” Che takes a step back and laughs at Colin’s whine of loss. “The sooner you get your ass in gear, the sooner your ass is mine.”

Colin stumbles as he steps away from the wall. He’s laughing now, too; his cheeks and ears are burning as Che leads him out of the bar with a hand on the small of his back. “Jesus, Che.”

“Just Che is fine. Or Michael. Didn’t mind hearing you call me that.” Che’s hand dips lower for a moment and gropes at Colin’s ass before settling on his back again. “Already got an uber coming.”

“How did you manage that?”

Che waggles his fingers in Colin’s line of sight. “Magic fingers, baby.”

Colin shoves at his hand with another laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

They finally spill out onto the sidewalk and into the chilly night air. Che’s arm never moves from Colin’s waist. They reach the curb and stand there, Che diligently watching for their uber and Colin diligently watching Che.

“Glad you told me,” Che says after a few moments of silence. “You feel better?”

“Better?”

“Getting that off your chest.” Che looks down at him. There’s no cheeky grin on his face. His gaze is as heavy as ever, intense and narrow.

“Uh,” Colin says, “Yeah. It’s better.”

Che squeezes Colin’s waist and in the process tugs him a little closer. “Good,” he says. “I feel better too.”

“Yeah?” Colin asks, voice soft.

Che, in a not-quite-uncharacteristic display of tenderness, leans over and brushes a kiss against the side of Colin’s head. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Think we owe Vanity Fair a thank you bouquet or some shit.”

Colin laughs and hides his face against Che’s neck. “Sure, okay.


End file.
